Risks and Rewards
by anardentauthor
Summary: A chronicle of Norman's Triptocaine addiction, leading up to the game's beginning. Rated 'T' for violence, strong language, and drug use.
1. Present

It was the eve of Norman Jayden's thirtieth birthday, but he didn't feel much

like celebrating. The young man had been a member of the FBI for nearly three

years, but had done little in his time there. Though he'd started by dealing

with purely legal matters, he was promoted to profiling not soon after they

discovered his expansive understanding of psychology, although from the moment

he started, he knew he was not cut out for it. Often times after the criminal's

modus operandi had been found out, he and his various partners would have to

hunt them down and arrest them, and that was the part Norman despised. He was

the clumsiest person in the entire building, usually responsible for losing the

chases and fights, which prolonged the ordeals. How he wasn't fired was entirely

beyond him.

"I can't believe you're coming in to work on your birthday," said Chris, the

department's head of technology and Norman's only friend in the entire building.

"I'm thinking if I keep coming I'll do something worthwhile eventually," Norman

said with a grin as they walked to his office.

"What're you talking about? You're the reason we caught the Flamingo Killer for

Christ's sakes!"

"Yeah, after I failed to take him in ten times."

"Oh, come on."

"No. I really did lose him ten times."

"So combat isn't your strong suit, so what? It's not mine either."

"Yeah, but, you're coming out with new things all the time. It's taken me two

years and three partners to catch one stupid guy."

Chris shrugged. "If you really wanna do something _now_, I've got something you

can do for me."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. You doing anything this morning?"

"I've gotta look at some files, but I can do it later."

"Good. Come downstairs with me, then."

The two men took the elevator down to the fifth floor, where all prototypical

weapons were stored.

"So the guys and I have been working with this technology on and off for a few

years, and we finally finished it about a month ago. We got a few volunteers to

test it out, but we still need a few more."

"Okay," said Norman. "What is it?"

"Well," Chris said, searching the cabinets for his name, "We call it ARI.

Stands for 'Added Reality Interface.' It's a pair of glasses and when you put

them on, it interacts with your perceptions, so you can zero in on the scene

you're investigating, and there's also a glove you wear to interact with the

evidence." He tucked a strand of dark, wavy hair behind his ear. " It has

advanced analysis so you can know what you're looking at almost immediately. It

automatically stores all that information so you can look at it any time you

want without having to lug it around."

"Woah," gasped Norman. "That sounds like something out of a movie."

"Well, that's where we got the idea, actually," Chris said sheepishly. "But

it's just a prototype, so loading times are a little slower than they should be,

and there are some side effects we've seen from the guys who have already tried

it that we're not sure how to fix yet. Here it is." He pulled a small pair of

glossy glasses and a single glove.

"You wanna try it?"

"Sure!" Jayden took them from Chris' robust hand and was immediately amazed.

The lighting had changed. Fluorescent footprints were scattered across the

floor, and when he touched them with his right hand, their owners' names popped

up in orange writing, as if he was staring at a computer screen. "This is the

most awesome thing I've ever seen!"

"Look what else you can do," said Chris. "D'you see that orange button in the

bottom left corner? Press it."

Norman did. A brick wall the size of half the room popped up in front of him,

and he gazed at the ball in his hand.

"It's a game. For when you get bored," said Chris.

"Oh!" Norman bounced the ball against the wall and caught it. The number '1'

popped up in the right corner. He tossed it again. The number changed to '2.' "Hey. It keeps track."

"Yeah," said Chris. "We're gonna put in some new games eventually, but that's

all we've got for now."

Norman took the objects off and readjusted to his surroundings.

"That's...That's really amazing, Chris. I've got no idea how you did it, but

that's incredible."

"So, you'll be one of the beta testers?"

"I'd be honored to."

"Great. Well, like I said, there's some stuff I gotta warn you about."

"I'm all ears."

"If you wear it a lot-we think an hour at a time, but it might be as little as

thirty minutes-without a break, you'll start seeing things even when they're

off. But you can stop them with a really small dose of Triptocaine."

"I've never heard of that."

"I don't really understand how it works. I'm not a doctor," Chris said with a

laugh. "But let me write you a prescription for some, just in case you need it.

You can get it at any pharmacy, I think, but definitely at the one near here."

He handed him a slip of paper. "It's an anesthetic, so we think it works by

numbing the part of the brain that got overstimulated from the ARI. It's really

not dangerous unless you forget to take breaks."

Norman nodded. "But listen to me," said Chris, taking a small blue vial out of

the cabinet, "This little thing has ten doses in it. See, if you look really

close, you can kind of see the lines. Only take one dose when you need it. We've

already had one of our three guys get addicted to the stuff. It's just a really,

really small sniff. I'm not gonna demonstrate for you, but you understand,

right?"

"So, you take it...through the nose?" Jayden grimaced.

"Well, there's a pill form, too, but that takes about half an hour to work.

This one makes the hallucinations go away in two minutes, tops. Hope I haven't

scared you off," he said with a smile.

"No, not at all," said Norman. "I can't wait to use them."

"Alright, then," said Chris, handing him the vial, glove, and glasses that he

placed in a bag, "Happy birthday."


	2. Past

Norman was always a quiet boy, though incredibly eager to please. His parents

were nearly always gone, and he was often alone in the empty house. But he

didn't mind. He enjoyed being alone. It gave him time to think about life and

death and deities and dreams.

When he went off to college at a small, prestigious school, he liked to think

that he impressed his parents.

When he graduated top of his class for both undergrad and law school he liked to

think they were impressed.

When he was selected for a new program at the FBI, something he'd signed up for

on an uncharacteristic whim, he liked to think they were proud, and very

impressed.

They only talked a few times a year, about trite things, so he was never really

sure if they were-but he liked to think so.


	3. I

Jayden's partner was a young man named Reggie Jack. He'd been working for the FBI for a little over a year, but was already a master at combat, something Norman desperately needed help with. Because of this, the senior member was looked down upon, and their teamwork was nearly nonexistent.

"Alright, listen up, you two," said their boss, Mr. Corey, after ordering them in the conference room, "Jayden, did you read that file I gave you last week?About our latest suspect?"

He'd been so preoccupied playing with his new glasses that, although he was compelled by fear to read through it, he barely retained any information it contained.

"I, uh, I glanced over it, yes."

"Well. For the benefit of both of you, then, I'll tell you what it said." He rose and stood near the front of the conference room. "Name's Mark Johnson. Age 42, 5'7", roughly 220 pounds." He pressed a button on his remote and the man's face popped up on the tiny projection screen. "That's all I've got. Jayden, why don't you tell us about his mental state?"

"Oh, uh..." He raced through his thoughts, until finally he remembered. "He lost his daughter when she was about 20, that's why he's suspect, because all the victims are around the same age as she was, and died from asphyxiation via smoke, just like she did."

"So that sonnuvabitch is responsible for all the property damage, too," said Jack.

"Looks like."

"I want you two to go to his address and investigate," said Corey. He turned to Norman's partner. "Jack, if he's not home, you know what to do."

"Got it."

The two left and drove across town, passing some of the poorer districts until they reached a dusty, dilapidated two-story house.

"There's no car here," Norman noticed.

"We'll see if anyone's home anyway."

The two walked up to the faded wooden door. Jayden knocked twice, then once more. "No one's home," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Let's head back."

"Now just hold on a minute," said Jack. He walked off the patio and to the side of the house, and dusted off a window. "No one inside," he said. "What d'you think would be easier, breaking the window or kicking the door in? Probably the

door."

"We can't do that! No one's home," Norman repeated.

"Rules were made to be broken," said Jack. "Just like this door. It's almost off it's hinges." He gave it a kick and it fell backward immediately. He stepped inside and Jayden reluctantly followed.

"We shouldn't be in here," said Norman, peering through the nearly vacant rooms. To the left, a table was in a room in the center. In the room to the right, a bed.

"Is this really the first time you've broken in a house? And you've been alive how long?"

"Looks like he lives alone," he said to himself, ignoring the comment. "May as well," Norman muttered and grabbed the glasses and glove from his left pocket.

As the lighting changed to a blue chromaticism, potential clues littered the floor, outlined in orange. "This is so cool."

He knelt down as he saw a glowing residue on the ground, and swiped it with his gloved hand. He read the analysis. "It's blood," he said, "A girl's blood. No one on file." Jack turned to face him. "You look ridiculous."

"There's more blood down there," he said, pointing to a spot under the table to the left. "The same as before." As he got on his hands and knees, he felt a small knob and, lifting his leg, he saw that it was connected to a small trapdoor.

"Hey, Jake, come look at this."

"What is it?"

"It's…It's a door."

"Well, where's it lead?"

"Should we go down it?"

"How the hell did you get in the FBI?"

Norman sighed. "Alright, I'm going."

He opened the door and the smell of blood wafted through his nostrils. He cringed. "There's something going on down there."

"No shit. Move over." Jake pushed Jayden away and went down inside the door. He hit the ground with a thud. "It's about ten feet down. Come on. It's pitch black dark."

Norman sighed and dropped down.

He crinkled his nose. "That smell makes me sick. Where's it coming from?" He couldn't see anything even with the glasses, until an orange glow encircled a large, dark space. The text said that it was a dead body. "Holy shit!"

"What is it, Jayden?"

"We gotta find a light switch."

"Hang on, I've gotta flashlight somewhere in my pocket."

In a moment, light shone ahead of them. A lifeless, pale corpse of a fully clothed female was strapped to an upright mattress. She looked to be no older than 14.

"He's not our guy," said Jayden.

"The hell are you talking about? We've got proof staring us in the fucking face!"

He shook his head. "No, no, it's the wrong method and the wrong victim. The age isn't right."

"So you're saying we've got _a_ killer, but not _the_ killer."

"Yep."

"So now we've gotta find a motive for him, too, huh."

Norman walked over to the body, several orange circles surrounding her hands and neck, various wounds. "There was a struggle, and she was strangled, tied up, and stabbed, in that order."

"We gotta find the knife, then, with his prints."

The two scoured the area for nearly half an hour, but found nothing. "It must be up there somewhere."

Norman took the ladder adjacent to the body and the two climbed up. "It's probably with the other silverware," he said, and it was, complete with smeared blood and fingerprints.

"So, what do we do now," Norman asked, remembering Chris' warning and removing his glasses. He clenched his eyes shut and blinked them rapidly, but the area in front of him continued to be painfully bright and began to move, and he wondered if this was what Chris meant by a 'hallucination.' He felt for the vial in his pocket and unscrewed the tiny lid, placed it to his nose, and inhaled. It made his eyes and nose burn and he put the vial back in his pocket, blinking furiously until a wave of warmth spread through his body and the colors stopped moving and started appearing normal again.

"Did you just do drugs right in front of me, Jayden?" Jack was amused.

"It's for the ARI," he responded. His body felt as light as a feather, as did his head.

"A…RI?"

"The glasses." The rapid beating of his heart slowed to normal, and the fear of being ambushed by the house's murderer all but vanished. "_Damn_."

"So," Norman said slowly, "Do we just wait this out, or…come back later?"

"Well, I don't know how I feel about having a druggie as my backup, so maybe we should go."

"Oh, funny guy. We'll just wait. He'll come sooner or later and we've got this."

"Well, well. Alright then, Mr. Hotshot. We'll have to find some place to hide."

Jayden looked around, drinking in the surroundings. Apart from the dust, it really was a nice house. The shade of red on the walls was beautiful. It reminded him of a sunset.

"Jayden. Get your ass over here."

He staggered over to the table and got under it beside Jack. "God."

"What?"

"Nothing. Stay quiet. He's bound to come here sooner or later."

Norman's eyes were starting to feel heavy. He closed them and leaned his head

against the bottom of the chair behind him.

"What the hell are you doing? Get up!"

"What? He won't be coming for a while."

"How do you know?"

"Usually people wait until nighttime to dispose a body."

"Well, they don't wait until nighttime to come home from wherever they are."

Norman shrugged and closed his eyes again. "Just nudge me when he's here."

Several minutes or hours later, Jayden felt a strong, pulsating pain in the side of his head. All at once, he opened his eyes and met the eyes of someone unfamiliar, who was repeatedly slamming his head into a table. Frantically he managed to hit him in the face, and when the pressure stopped, he kicked him in the chest, and he fell to the floor. Norman's hands were shaking as he fumbled in his pocket, searching for his gun. What he wouldn't give for the calm he had only moments ago.

Finally he felt the icy metal and pulled it out, pointing it at the man on the ground, whose face looked exactly as the one he'd seen in the picture earlier.

"Hands on your fucking head!" He screamed, his voice cracking as he panted.

The corpulent man did as told. Norman quickly glanced to the left and right, but saw no sign of his partner.

"Jack!" He screeched.

He heard a dull reply somewhere far, far off.

"Where is he?" He demanded.

"I ain't tellin' you shit."

"Stand up," he barked, and the man did.

Norman searched his other pocket for some handcuffs and pulled them out, placing the gun at the back of his head, still dizzy and reeling from the pain of his injury.

"Now, no funny business," he said, "Or I'll stick a bullet through your brain."

"You're not a killer. I can tell just from your voice."

"Shut the fuck up! You're under arrest for the murder of Carlie…What's her name?…The girl downstairs you murdered."

He managed to get the man in handcuffs while reciting his Miranda rights.

"Now," Norman said, I'm gonna take you to the car, and you're gonna sit in the

back and not make any noise, you understand me?"

The man nodded. "If you tell me where my partner is, there might be a little deal for you, cut back on your lifetime sentence, but I won't make any promises."

"Find him yourself, grunted the man as Jayden shoved him in the backseat of the car and locked the door. "No-and I mean no-funny business, you got it?"

He stuck his keys in the door and ran into the house and called Jake's name again, hearing the same muffled response. He groped for the knob and opened the door under the table. "I'm coming, Jake!" he screamed and jumped down into the pitch black room.

"Shit," he muttered. "Jake, are you down here?"

A loud scream, still muffled. He must've had something over his mouth. "Keep making noise. I haven't got a flashlight."

He could use the ARI, just really quickly, he thought. He found them in his pocket and put them on. Immediately a large orange circle appeared not too far away.

"Okay, I dunno where your face is," he said, feeling for it until he finally found the tape and ripped it off his mouth. Jake screamed.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Four small orange ovals illuminated the area dimly. Norman began to untie the knots that bound him to the wall.

"Are you hurt, Jake?"

"Hell yeah, I'm hurt. He stabbed me!"

"What happened to the knife?"

"How the fuck should I know? I've been bleeding for at least half an hour, now, I need a hospital."

"Here, lean on me."

Norman looked around until an encircled ladder appeared. He dragged Jake up until they reached the light. His shirt was stained with crimson. "Don't worry, we'll get you to a hospital."

He and his weakened partner hobbled outside, but there was no car parked adjacent to the driveway. Only, according to ARI, a minuscule amount of blood.

That dripped from the knife.

That the murderer somehow hid and used to get the cuffs off.

"The car! Fuck!" screamed Jayden. He pulled his walkie talkie out of his back pocket, took a deep breath, and pressed the button. "Hello, this is Norman Jayden, Badge 47023. I need to report a missing vehicle and a suspect on the loose. '89 Chevy, standard issue, and a Mark Johnson, overweight male. I also need an ambulance sent to this address: 2125 Carter Lane, asap."

"Copy. We'll send the ambulance right away and send out the info," came the reply.

Norman sighed and turned to Jake, who was becoming increasingly pale. "Don't worry, help's on the way."

Jake squinted his dark eyes. "You…this is all your fault."

Jayden took off the glasses and placed them in his breast pocket.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't know…" He shook his head. "The ambulance is coming."

He looked around. No cars he could ask to use. Damn it, he was going to lose

him!

Norman sat on the patio with Jake draped over the stairs.

"I'm never working with you again, not a single fucking case."

Norman placed his head in his hands, and then decided to distract himself. He placed the glasses in the familiar spot on his head and pressed the orange button in the bottom corner.


	4. 1

Norman Jayden lie on his bed, the sensual satin of the sheets caressing his skin as he twirled the beautiful cerulean glass, marveling the rainbow of colors it made under the light of the lamp.

It had been two months since Jayden lost his latest perp, only one in the series of many. He was caught eventually, but the serial killer they were looking for was still at large, and had committed another murder.

But it was alright. Norman had the tools to make him a great investigator, and he would surely find and convict every criminal out there.

Tomorrow.

After his Tripto wore off.

So, he used it once in a while when he didn't "need" it. But it was so nice not to be so stressed. And it made investigations so much easier. It made his life easier.

And he'd only been taking the one dose at a time, like Chris told him to.


	5. III

"Hey. Jayden," Corey called from his desk. "Come here."

Norman Jayden felt his heartbeat in his ears. Someone must've seen the empty vial of Tripto he'd accidentally dropped at the crime scene last week.

"Yes, Mr. Corey?"

"Now, I know you haven't done any actual field work in a few months," he said.

Norman could not fathom the relief he felt. He scratched his neck. "Yeah, not in a while," he said.

"But, a lot of our guys have either been injured," he continued. Jayden lowered his head. "Or are taking some time off, 'cause the older ones wanna spend time with their kids now that summer's around."

Norman had always wanted a family of his own.

"Anyway, long story short, you and Snow are pretty much the only ones here today, and you both passed your physicals, so…I need you two to find a guy for me."

"A…Alright," Norman said. He found Chris in his office in the third floor, muscular frame hunched over his desk.

"Hey," Jayden said with a knock. "Boss needs us."

Chris looked up from his computer. "What for?"

Norman shrugged. "Some field work."

"Are you fucking me?"

"No, he's dead serious."

Chris groaned and got up. They talked all the way down the stairs.

"So, how's the ARI treating you?"

"I love it," he exclaimed.

"Oh, do you?" Chris smiled. "Any side effects?"

Jayden scratched his cheek. "Oh, not really. Just the occasional hallucination, and then I take a bit of Tripto, like you told me."

"Good."

It'd been a day since Norman used ARI and three days since he used Tripto.

And he missed it. He was completely on edge today, almost too stressed think straight. What he wouldn't give for just a little bit, just enough to clear his mind, to calm him down. Maybe later, if he could wait until he got home…

Chris touched Norman's face and he felt his itching cheeks flush. "Hey, buddy, you ok? You're looking a little pale."

He laughed, his eyes lighting up. "Well, until now."

"Oh, yeah, I'm just nervous."

"About what?"

"Uh…everything I guess," said Norman. "I wish I picked a different job, sometimes. I was gonna go in to law, but if I could do it all over again, I think I'd like to teach high school English or something."

Chris laughed. "You? A teacher? The kids would take complete advantage of you."

They both smiled.

"I love my job," Chris said. "But if I had to pick something else, I'd program computers."

"Computers, huh."

They walked to Corey's office and Jayden shut the door behind them.

"So, like I was telling Jayden," said Corey, "Since there's such a shortage of people and you two are in good physical shape, I need you to do something for me."

He slid them a folder with a man's picture inside and a circled address. "See if he's home. He's a suspect, plus he's also wanted down at the station since he didn't pay his bail for some speeding ticket or something."

"Alright, let's do it," said Chris.

"D'you mind driving?" asked Norman, grabbing the file. "I'm feeling a little jumpy."

"Sure," said Chris, giving him a strange look.

Norman fidgeted with his fingernails as he thumbed through the manilla envelope in the passenger's seat.

"So, here's what I go by: Unless you're a hundred and ten percent sure your life is in danger, don't shoot to kill."

Chris laughed. "Isn't that the opposite of what you're supposed to do?"

"Well, yeah…but I don't like innocent blood on my hands," he said, biting his pitiful nails.

"You're bound to make a mistake sooner or later," Chris said. "You've gotta accept that at some point"

Norman shrugged.

The address was in a nice part of town, a very beautiful and lavish area that Norman wished he could afford.

The address itself was a three story house, perfectly painted white.

"_This_ is a guy who didn't pay his bail," muttered Chris. "_Goddamn_."

"If he's the killer, he's got a superiority complex. Murders during the daytime, in areas that are usually pretty populated. Then the bodies disappear." Norman looked wearily at the expansive building. "They're probably in there." He felt himself tremble just the slightest bit.

"Let's get it over with."

Norman knocked three times on the door, his usual ritual, and as usual, there was no response. Suddenly his head began to pulsate. His surroundings shrank and grew in time with the pounding in his head. He felt himself gasp for air as he felt for somewhere to put his weight, and leaned on the wall, panting.

"Norman, are you alright?"

Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"So what do we do now? There's a light on inside."

Jayden knocked again, three times. And again, three times. Finally, it cracked open, but all he could make out was a narrowed eye.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Am I speaking with, uh…Matt Crest?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm Agent Norman Jayden, with the FBI." His voice was quivering. He sighed at himself.

"And do you have any identification, Agent Norman Jayden?"

"Oh. Right." He pulled his card from his right jacket pocket, hairs on his neck rising when his hand brushed the ARI glasses.

"Come on in. Your little friend can come in too," he said.

The door opened to reveal a tall, surly man that was at least half a foot taller than both of them.

The insides were well-furnished. "Love what you've done with the place," remarked Chris. "You know what would really put it all together? Some dead bodies. Got any of those lying around?"

"Chris!"

Crest just laughed. "No sir."

He gestured to a glass table with what looked like glass chairs. "Let's sit."

They sat.

"So, Mr. Crest," started Jayden, "Do you remember where you were on the 15th of June at 6 p.m.?"

"Last week? I was at the park with my daughter."

"You have kids?" chimed Chris.

"Just Emily," responded the man.

"Do you remember what time you arrived and what time you left?" asked Jayden.

"Uh…5:30-ish and probably 6:15 or 6:20. We were there a little less than an hour."

Norman looked around the room a third time. His face was itchy again. "Can I see a picture of your daughter?"

A twitch in the corner of Crest's lip.

"Why? You gonna accuse her of murder, Agent Norman Jayden?"

"No, I just think it's a little odd you don't have any pictures of her in your home."

His brow furrows for an instant, and he's back to smiling.

"You got a kid?"

Regretfully, "No."

"Lemme give you some advice, then: Don't have them. They're whiny, spoiled brats and'll grow up to be whiny, entitled bitches." He laughed. "Especially the girls."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Crest. Mind if we have a look around?"

"Be my guest. Just don't steal anything."

Norman entered the living room and began scanning it for anything unusual.

"Aren't you gonna use ARI?" Chris asked

_"God help me if I actually need the Tripto," _he thought.

"Yeah," said Jayden as he pulled them out of his pocket and promised himself they wouldn't be on for more than ten minutes. Orange circles popped up almost everywhere, and he blinked so they would stop blurring together. They were all benign. Just fingerprints. Crest's.

"You got a wife?" called Norman.

"Happily divorced," came the reply.

Norman wished he had time for a wife, but he was just too damn busy.

"Find anything yet?" asked Chris.

"No," Norman whispered, "But there's gotta be something, here. I mean, did you hear what he said?"

He felt a headache coming on, and jerkily he tore the glasses away.

"What is it?" Chris asked, concerned.

"I, uh…I'm just not feeling well," he said, hastily tucking the glove and glasses in his pocket. His heart rate was skyrocketing, his hands were starting to shake. He hoped to god it wasn't noticeable.

"You got a fever or something?" said Chris.

"I, uh, I must," Norman said, trying to smile, groping in his pocket for the smooth glass of the vial. Just to feel it, cool to the touch, relieved him for a moment. He needed the Tripto. That would calm him down.

"I'm gonna go ask him something else," muttered Chris.

"Yeah. Okay."

The room began to sway left and right, and suddenly he heard the sound of shattering glass.

But it wasn't him. It was Chris, who had just knocked Crest into the table.

Norman found his voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's obvious he's the one, Norman, evidence or not."

"Stop, Chris," cried Norman, whose voice cracked.

Crest grabbed a shard of glass from the floor, and Chris pulled out his gun.

"Don't shoot, Chris. Don't shoot."

He wanted to move, to knock the gun from his hand, but Jayden had found his way to the floor, and couldn't get back up.

"Nobody move," he said, shaking hands searching frantically for the drug in his pocket. It was the only thing that would calm him down, calm him down enough to calm them down.

Finally he had it in his hands.

Crest made a loud cry, startling him, and he dropped the vial. He watched as it shattered into thousands of shimmering pieces, blue powder sprinkled evenly across.

"_Fuck_!" he screamed.

The two turned to him, and he finally managed on his feet, pulling out his gun.

"Both of you. Weapons down. Now!"

He tried to smile at Chris, but he was in far too much pain. He winced and the movement of his hands became far more erratic.

Chris placed his standard issue on the ground and kicked it toward Norman.

Jayden turned to Crest, and the room lurched to the left.

He attempted to focus on the shard in the large hand that varied in size almost

every second. He was burning up. He was being choked by flames.

"Put it down," Jayden panted.

The man only stared at him.

He struggled to keep his grip on the gun. Everything was moving up and down, left and right, never stopping, not even for the briefest of seconds.

"Put it down or I'll shoot. Come on."

The large man only looked at him.

"Put it down!"

The room started shaking more violently, and so did his spasmodic hands. He heard a gunshot, and Crest sank to the floor as blood spread across his pristine shirt.

"Chris!" Norman exclaimed, turning despite the room's swaying in the opposite direction.

Chris' gun was on the ground.

Chris ran to the wounded man's side, and Norman stumbled toward him as well, discarding his weapon in the process. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Oh my god, oh, god. Did I kill him?"

His voice was far away from his ears. He barely heard himself talk.

Chris was radioing the ambulance, telling them to come.

Jayden knelt beside the man, pallor increasing by the second. His eyes were closed. Norman's field of vision was blurring and the pain in his head increased exponentially.

"Norman, what'd you do that for?"

"I dunno," he said as the blurry colors coalesced, "I dunno."

"We'll see. No definitive evidence yet, but we'll see. We'll probably convict

him soon. I dunno what to do about…_him_."

"Crest pulled a weapon. It was standard protocol."

"Even though he was screaming 'My hand slipped! My hand slipped!'"

"Doesn't matter. He wasn't in the wrong, Corey."

"The hell happened to him, anyway?"

"Withdrawal. I don't know whether it's from the ARI or the Triptocaine. Probably both."

"So you should take him out of the testing program, then?"

"Oh, no, no, no. We just need to monitor him more closely. Withdrawals aren't deadly."

"Almost was."

"That's why we monitor him. Make sure he's fine before he goes off."

"Sounds expensive."

"Nah, all I gotta do is keep a closer eye on him. Look. I really want the ARI to work, you know that. And I really trust Norman. If anyone can do it, he can."

_Clearly he was wrong,_ thought Norman through the haze of drugs in the hospital bed. He could go home, soon. Go home and go back to work. He hated that this counted as his sick leave.


	6. 3

"I just wish you would've told me."

"Close the goddamn door, Chris!" Norman Jayden snapped. "For Chrissake!"

"I thought we were friends. I thought you could tell me these things. Especially since I oversee things anyway."

"I wasn't proud of it, okay?" Jayden crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders as he leaned against the door.

"I'm not proud of it."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's my fault for not keeping a closer eye on you."

"Don't…Don't say that shit just to make me feel better. I know I fucked up."

Norman felt tears along the rims of his eyes. "I won't do it again." He met Chris' deep, dark eyes. "I can't just stop it, though, I mean, investigations are so much better, quicker, easier. And the Tripto is…wonderful. I mean, it…it slows me down. It…It's so goddamn relaxing." He averted his eyes and frowned. "I know it's wrong."

"Maybe," Chris said softly, "Maybe you should check into rehab for a month or two."

"Oh, _hell_, no!"

"Woah." Chris peered at Norman's fervent face. "What's so bad about rehab?"

"I'm not…I mean, I don't think it's that bad. And I've got to work. I know I'm not that important, but we're so short-staffed lately…I've got a responsibility."

"You got a responsibility to yourself, too."

"I…I guess."

"How much have you been using?"

Norman smirked. "None in the last few days," he said. "Can't you tell? I'm feeling so damn mercurial."

"At least you got through the physical symptoms."

"Barely."

"How much were you using before you quit?"

His gaze dropped to the floor.

"Uh. I dunno. Two or three doses every few days."

"Two…every few days?"

"Sometimes three. Usually just two."

Chris tried to hide his astonishment. "And, uh…how many of those was for hallucinations?"

"One time," he said, "I saw the brick wall once, when it wasn't there. But I'd been on the ARI for six or seven hours."

_"Straight_?"

Jayden sighed. "I know, I know. I'll only use the ARI for investigations from now on."

"Good."

Norman didn't mention the Tripto because that would only make him think about it

more.


	7. Can't Keep Track

The annual dinner the FBI held fell on a Tuesday this year. Norman hated these types of events, with the large amounts of people and painful small talk. So, he decided to take some Tripto to ease his nerves. Just a little. It had been weeks since he'd had some, after all. He dressed himself, went into his bathroom, had a little over his usual two doses, and slipped the familiar vial in his pocket.

Usually Norman didn't like alcohol. The smell of beer made him nauseous, as did the scent of most other drinks. But the wine they were serving at the dinner was absolutely divine, especially along with the meal, which consisted of the most succulent turkey he had ever tasted in his _life_. His mind started becoming foggier than usual after he finished his first glass, and by the second, he was feeling incredibly light. Everything was becoming amusing, especially the tale of one private eye the director had invited.

"But as it turned out," said the man, "'Summers' was just a name Oxford used! So the person I was hunting down was in front of me the entire time!"

"Oh, my god," said Norman,chortling, "That's the funniest fucking thing I've ever heard!"

The monotonous chatter suddenly ceased and he looked around, in case anyone had arrived or done something else that could call the attention of the entire table. But he didn't see anything.

"Tell me, Norman," said the man, catching Norman's attention immediately, "Are you a father?"

He furrowed his brows. "No," he responded slowly.

The man across from him smiled. "I'm not, either. Seems like it would be too much work, having to be on model behavior all the time, don't you think?"

"Are you flirting with me?"

The table erupted into laughter. Norman looked around again for the source of the group's reaction, but could find none. He laughed anyway, and turned when he sensed movement beside him. Chris had risen (ha!) and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to the bathroom, Norman, why don't you come with me?"

_"What?"_****

"Come with me, now," he said. Norman shrugged and followed him until they were out of the sight of the guests, in an empty hallway.

"Oh, I get it," said Norman with a smile, "You want to get me alone, Chris, is that it? That's alright, I'm fine with that." Chris looked at Norman with his beautiful blue eyes, but Norman couldn't really tell what those eyes were saying.

"You can kiss me now," he informed him.

Chris sighed and put his face an inch away from Jayden's, but squinted, to his surprise.

"How much Tripto did you take today, Norman?"

He felt his face get hot. "Um. I dunno what you're talking about. I've never heard of Triptocaine." Chris narrowed his eyes. "Oh. Uh, what I mean is, I've only been taking, you know, what you told me to."

He stopped talking when Chris reached into his pants' pocket and retrieved the vial. "Hey! That's mine!" He struggled in vain with Chris, but ultimately gave up after five seconds and retired to the floor.

"_Half_ of this is gone, Norman."

"That's because I've been using it for two weeks."

Chris counted the minuscule rings around the tube. "You're telling me you've had 5 hallucinations in the past 14 days?"

"Uh...yes," he said, voice inflecting.

"That's statistically impossible."

"Well, I'm the rule to the exception," said Norman.

He could see that Chris was fighting a smile. He got to his feet and leaned against the wall.

"Didn't you read the prescription label, Norman? You're not supposed to have alcohol with any dose of Tripto, and especially not with what you're taking."

"Oh," he said. "Look, honestly, I never read those little pamphlets with the really small print, not even with my other meds."

Chris sighed and went beside Norman. "I want you to put your arm around me and we're gonna go out there and you're not not gonna say anything and I'm gonna tell them you've got a cold and your antibiotics are messing you up, and then I'll take you home and you can sleep this off, okay?"

"You'll take me home and then-"

"-You can't say _anything_ until we get in my car. Okay? Deal?"

Norman nodded and let Chris lift his arm. He put his full weight on the man's shoulder. "It's much easier to stand, now."

"Shh."

Chris did what he said, and helped Norman into the car and into his apartment. "Okay, go lie down."

He did so. The sheets were marvelous and soft. He moaned and turned on his side. Chris was gone. "Hey, where'd you go?"

Chris emerged two minutes later from Norman's bathroom, with a trash bag in hand and a scowl contorting his lovely features. "There're five vials in here!"

"Well, that's 'cause I haven't taken out the trash in months," he responded. "Like, half a year, that one."

"You shouldn't even go through five in a _year_, Norman!"

"I use the ARI a lot, though."

"I know you don't use it this much. Why didn't you tell me you have a problem, Norman? I thought you quit!"

Norman propped himself up on his elbow and laughed. "What are you talking about? I don't have a...a _problem_."

Chris frowned.

"Okay, so maybe I use it more than absolutely necessary," he said. "But, I don't have to, I mean, I could stop whenever."

Chris sighed and left.

In the morning Norman woke up with a splitting headache and a sick stomach. He had no recollection of the day prior, and only when washing his face did he remember one tiny tidbit, a murky invitation to his friend.

Oh, god.

Oh, _god._

Maybe this was a sign. A sign that he should stop. Without any more thought he fumbled through the bathroom cabinets until he found the remaining tubes of Tripto and dumped them all in the toilet. He regretted it immediately.

How was he going to _look_ at his friend? Surely he was furious with him, and he damn well should be. Norman stumbled out of his bathroom and peered at the digital clock on his bedside table. He still had twenty minutes to get to work. He had to go; he'd used all his sick days to avoid those faculty-wide meetings that happened four times a year.

Thanks to the painkillers he'd managed to take, his headache had subsided significantly by the time he reached the bureau. He headed straight for his office, adamant that the would lock himself in and stay there until it was time to leave. Unfortunately for him, Chris was less than ten feet away. He darted his eyes toward the man and returned his gaze to in front of him as quickly as he could, but he wasn't quick enough, because their eyes had locked for nearly half a second.

"Norman!" His voice was a mixture of excitement and concern. "How's-"

"I'm really sorry about yesterday, I really am," Jayden said quickly, staring at the ground.

"It's no problem. I mean, I know you weren't exactly in your right mind."

He let out a painful laugh. "Nope."

"Will you come talk to me in my office?"

"Uh. Sure," he answered, still staring at his feet.

"So," Chris said once he closed the door, "About, uh...Well, I guess I shouldn't call it a problem per se, but, uh-"

"I flushed it. The Triptocaine. Down the toilet," Norman said, furtively meeting Chris' eyes.

"Oh, great, and here I was, worrying about planning an intervention." He smiled, and Jayden smiled back.


	8. That's Problematic

Norman Jayden's cheek hurt when he pulled it from the sticky, frigid linoleum.

His stomach twisted and churned, and he lifted his head into the toilet bowl just in time. His noisy retching was only drowned out by the flushing of the toilet. It made his headache a hundred times' worse as the loud swishing of the water only made him dizzier.

"Are you still in here?"

Norman had no idea how Chris could continue to sound so cheerful.

"Yeah," Jayden moaned. He hated the sound of his own voice.

"You've been in here five minutes," Chris said. Norman could tell just from his tone that he was smiling.

"Every time I think I'm good…" He stopped and vomited again.

"What day is it?"

"The third."

"That's always the worst."

Conversing through the closed stall was strangely comforting.

"I don't understand how you're talking to me after all I've put you through this year."

"Eh. I started it."

"I hope you don't really feel that way."

He finally managed to stand and opened the stall. "I gotta be accountable for my own problems."

He staggered over to the sink and splashed some water on his face. In the mirror stood a thin, hollow face with bloodshot, baggy eyes. Norman recoiled upon seeing his reflection. He looked disgusting. No one should have to see him like this. Especially not himself.

He turned to Chris, who smiled at him, and it was the most comforting thing he'd ever seen in his life.

"Okay. Let's go."

They exited the bathroom and on the way to Norman's office they passed Corey.

_"Party a little too hard last night, Jayden?"_


	9. Noise

Norman Jayden had stayed completely off of Triptocaine for 122 days, 9 hours, and 54 minutes.

He knew because without it, time was so sluggish, and in an effort to make it go by more quickly, he'd count the minutes. He wasn't sure what happened when he reached 1440 minutes, and started over.

Sometimes he told himself that he was proud, because that was 1440 minutes he was sober, living without the Triptocaine, living _well_ without the Triptocaine.

Other times, he would say to himself, _"Well, there's only 400 minutes left."_

Until what? Until he started counting again. He didn't know why it was comforting. But it was.

But there were times when those 1440 minutes just never went by, and it was times like those when he needed Tripto.

Norman had taken three days off-Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday-when his parents came to town.

They barely visited, so he wanted to make this visit special. Of course, he did not succeed, but he made a valiant effort, which started by inviting them to dinner at a quite expensive restaurant that he could proudly afford.

"So, son," said his father, "What is it that you do, again?"

They spoke over a glass of wine because, now that Jayden was off Tripto, he could drink whatever he wanted. Even if it tasted horribly bitter without it.

"I, uh, I'm a profiler for the FBI."

"That's right. So, you don't get to carry a gun?"

"Well, uh…Everyone in the FBI gets a gun," he muttered.

"Have you ever shot anybody?" asked his Mother.

"Well. Yeah."

"That must be exhausting. I could never imagine doing something so against human nature."

"Oh, look. Food's here."

They remarked after dinner that the food was rather bland, and that they really ought to go somewhere a little more pricey next time.

The next day, they spent the afternoon in his apartment.

"Such a tiny place you've got here," said his father.

"Yeah, well, I don't take up a whole lot of space."

"So, Norman, I take it you're not the parenting type?"

"Well, uh, I dunno. Why'd you say that?"

"Usually those who settle down have done so by now."

"I'm too busy with my job right now to…to settle down," said Jayden, nearly flinching at the colloquialism. "But maybe I'll adopt when I'm a bit more settled."

His father shook his head. "The adoption process is really very difficult, especially if you're single."

The third day, he saw them to their flights with great ease.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, son," said his mother.

"Keep in touch," said his father.

He hugged both of them and watched their flight take off. He was overjoyed to return to work on Monday.

The familiar glass doors, hallways, and faces were relieving to Norman as he walked to his office. Something was amiss, however, something he couldn't quite place. A sense of melancholy permeated the air, he realized finally, but he didn't know why.

"Oh! Jayden!" Norman turned when he heard his superior's voice.

"Didn't you get the memo?" He paused. "Oh, well I guess you didn't. No work today, on account of the funeral."

Norman's eyes widened. "Funeral?"

"Yes, you remember Chris Snow, head of technology? Of course you do, he's the one who set you up with that ARI thingy. He died Thursday."

"W…What?" Jayden felt himself lurch backward. He sat on the corner of the nearest desk and resisted the urge to rub his temples. "How, uh…how did he, uh…?"

"We sent him to pick up some files in the nearest state, and he was assassinated there. We still don't know why or who it was. Maybe that's something you could investigate?"

"Uh…sure. Sure."

Norman Jayden went into the bathroom and washed his face, and cried, and regained his composure. Then, he attended his only friend's funeral.

Reality had sunk in by the time he entered his apartment.

_ Reality_, the cruel, sadistic torment that whoever was in charge forced him to go through.

And if no one was in charge, then he deserved this all the more.

Why didn't he even think to call, to see what he was doing? To check up on him? Had it just become second nature to use him a sounding board? Was that all Chris was to him?

Evidently.

_This was his fault_, Norman knew. All his fault. And he didn't want to be responsible for innocent blood on his hands.

He knew they had to be somewhere. He'd had a ton left from all the prescriptions he'd filled a year ago. Finally he found them in his bedside table drawer. Five crystal vials filled to the lid with blue, beautiful, lovely, lifesaving blue.

He took one, two, three deep breaths in a futile attempt to stop himself from trembling.

_It's your fault. _

_All your fault. _

_Stop shaking, you miserable bastard. It's almost over. _

_You won't have to worry anymore._

**_Take it and it won't be your fault anymore._**

He wiped the tears from his eyes, took the first vial, unscrewed the lid, and inhaled.

Noises. _Noises._ The mindless, monotonous chatter he hates so much. He hears it. It's all around him. He doesn't need to see or smell or touch. He can hear. And he hears what he hates, and he knows that he hates everything.

"My god! Oh my god!"

"Call an ambulance!"

"I called half an hour ago!"

"Someone get him out of the road!"

"I can't get past the goddamn crowd!"

"I recognize him from somewhere. The news, that's it! He caught that serial killer!"

"You mean he works for the FBI?"

"Goddammit, let me through!"

"He's smashed. High as a kite."

"They've got druggies working for the feds, now?"

"Yeah, that's the one! The Flamingo Killer!"

"Hey, I'd be high all the time too if I had to work in a job like that."

"This is insane! This is insane!"

"Is he dead? He looks dead."

"But his eyes are open. Sorta."

"This is an outrage! This is where my taxes are going! To some drug addict!"

"Damn, I've never seen eyes so red!"

"Everyone needs to fucking move!"

"Are you sure? He looks real dead to me."

"I oughtta give this sonnuvabitch a piece of my mind!"

"Everyone move!"

"Fucking sonnuvabitch."

"Everyone move out of my fucking way!"

_Pain._ Pain all through his body. Not pain, per se, but soreness, as if he's run for a hundred miles without stopping.

_"Move! Move! Move!"_

His limbs are heavy, much too heavy to move.

_"Is it him? Is that him? Really?"_

His throat is so dry, he couldn't make a sound even if he wanted to. His nose, too, burns, inside and outside. It's by far the most unpleasant feeling he's ever experienced.

"I dunno. Looks dead to me. Like I been saying this whole time."

His head is throbbing, and thinking just makes it worse. So does this _noise._

"He's not dead, stupid!"

He's got to move, get away from all the noise, help his head, make it stop, at least make the pain stop.

"Oh my god, we gotta tell June about this!"

_Colors._ A million. A billion. All blurred together, encircling and overlapping in a dizzying flurry of motion.

"No _fucking_ way! He is alive!"

There's too much of it, too much. It's a little clearer, now. Bodies. Lots of bodies. Of the people that are dead, because of all the criminals he couldn't catch?

_"Move! Move!"_

_Faces._ Blank faces. There's emotion, but it's dull. Do they know they're not feeling what they're feeling? Because it's so shallow? They're surprised, now, but they'll find something else to be surprised about. And as soon as they do, they'll find something to be happy about. And sad about. And mad about. That's how feelings work, so why do they still look like that?

"Let me through! Let me through! Goddammit, are you people deaf?"

The faces are clearer, now. The people have eyes, noses, mouths. Lights are above them, lots of bright, blurry lights. Everything is clearer, but it's all so blurry.

"Gah! You idiots! _Move_!"

The lights make his head worse, so much worse, but they won't stop. His eyes won't close. He has to move. He has to get away. Now.

"Oh my god!"

"Woah!"

Everything is so loud and bright and heavy. The world is spinning, yes, Earth is rotating, but it's sped up. It's going 365 days a second.

And gravity's stopped working. He feels himself going back, down, down, down, _down._

Screams. "Oh my god!"

"Now where am I gonna go for shoes?"

_Glass_ shatters. Sparkles. Cracks. Noisy, noisy, noisy shattering in his ears. He feels it all through his body, thousands of pin-pricks a thousand times worse than the fire in his nostrils and the drills in his skull. There's a pain in his right cheek, far more prominent than the rest. He decides to focus on it. Maybe it will minimize the coalescing colors and the sounds and dizzying movement and _sharp, sharp pain, my god!_

"My God!"

"The fuck's wrong with him!"

"Did someone call an ambulance?"

Gray blurs. White blurs. Faces? Faces. Millions. Hundreds. At least ten that he can make out. They're just a mass of lifeless life. It's disgusting. He feels sick.

Gasps and screams. Loud, loud, so loud. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing? Get away from him!"

"Get up, Jayden! Get the _fuck_ up!"

The pain in his cheek has just been magnified exponentially. It's searing, burning a thousand times worse that his nose, hurting more than all the pain in his aching body combined. It stings. It stings. It _stings._

"Get up!"

The left cheek feels nearly as bad, now. Both are stinging, getting worse with each bright blur that passes through his field of vision.

"Get the fuck up!"

Oh, god, it's too much. He can't bear the pain. He hears cars. There's a road nearby. If he could just make it to the road! His limbs are like lead, but if he can just propel himself forward, just a little, come _on…_

"Oh my god!"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Nothing but colors, moving colors. The crowd is bobbing up and down, up and down like waves from oceans he's seen on television. He never liked the beach. The waves made him sick. He feels sick.

A loud groan. "Alright, get up!"

_Pressure._ Lots of pressure. On his right arm, especially near his shoulder. His cheeks are still stinging and the right one is still searing. His throat is so goddamn dry.

"Come on, lean on me."

Pressure on the right half of his body. Blurs sway back and forth, and it makes him even more dizzy.

"Oh my _god_!"

"I just…I can't believe this!"

"Say something, son. Say you're fine."

He didn't know how to speak. It was hard to breathe and the world kept moving back and forth, back and forth, and it was so hot and he was so dizzy and his cheek hurt so damn badly and it was so _loud!_

"There's no need to worry!" Laughter, fake laughter. "He's just disoriented, that's all. He's got a high fever, see, that's why he's all sweaty. Must've wandered out here looking for a hospital."

More noise. The murmurs grate on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. It's so hot. There's too much. Too much pain. His body is tingling. His eyes are burning. His nose is on fire. His cheek is scathing.

"Fever my ass! How d'you explain this?"

"Dammit, say something, Jayden." Whisper. Angry hiss in his ear.

He didn't know where he was. He wanted to ask 'what's happening,' but all he heard were disjointed moans. He guessed they were his.

"Okay, don't say anything."

"He's sick! He needs a hospital!"

"Where's the ambulance!"

He felt his legs give out and felt pressure again, which he assumed was the ground.

Screams.

He couldn't make it to the road. He was too tired.

"Oh my god!"

"Get _up_, goddammit! Get up! Get up now!"

It was unbearably loud. Murmurs were shouts. Whispers were screams. He couldn't see anything. Slowly the noise was fading through a filter. The pain was there, but he was starting to feel numb.

Thank_ god_ it's almost _over._

"Visiting hours are almost up, sir."

"Is he awake yet?"

"Barely."

"Good enough, I gotta talk to him."

Rustling. Footsteps? Footsteps.

"Hey, Jayden. I don't got much time, open your eyes."

White walls. Hard mattress. Headache. Cheek hurts. Feels like something is on it.

_"It's not that bad, Norman,"_ he tells himself.

_Yes it is._

_Why?_

His mind is foggy. Not Tripto foggy. Irritating foggy. He can barely keep his eyes open. He can't remember anything. All he knows is that he's in a hospital and Corey is glaring at him, but he can't turn and face him because there's a disconnect between his mind and his body.

"Now, I don't think you meant to ruin the public perception of the FBI, but that's certainly what you did."

"W…_What?_"

"Only twenty or so people were there, but it got some news coverage and now the whole nation thinks the FBI's full of drug addicts."

Norman cringed at the word. He wasn't an addict. He wasn't addicted to Triptocaine. He just liked to use it. Sparingly. _Why_ was he _here?_

"But we can fix it," said Corey. "I already got with a newspaper who'll do a story on you once you're out of rehab."

"R…Rehab?"

He didn't need _rehab._

"Yes. You'll go for thirty days-we'll just deduct it from your pay, no problem-and then you'll give an interview saying you're clean and sober, and then you can get back to work and life will resume as usual."

He wasn't going to rehab.

"What happened?" His voice was sloppy and slurred. Damn medicine.

"You OD'd and passed out in the street, and a bunch of people saw you and freaked out."

He remembered! He'd snorted five vials instead of his usual 2/10ths of one.

He wasn't supposed to be alive.

Chris was dead.

And he wasn't. Even though he'd almost been. Vaguely he remembered the street lights and lamps as he stumbled along the sidewalk. He'd wanted to go to the zoo Chris had always talked about, lord knows why.

He didn't make it there, apparently.

He'd taken 50 doses. He should've died.

_Goddamn_ Triptocaine.

He should've died.

"I don't need to go rehab," he said finally, enunciating each word with the upmost concentration.

"Oh, you don't?"

"No."

"Then why're you here?"

"I never take that much," he says slowly. "I mean I didn't, uh…"

How could he say he wanted to die without sounding suicidal? Well, he didn't want to die then, not really. He just wanted his mind to shut up, and in his panic Tripto was the first thing he thought of.

He put a hand on his head. There was no way in hell be could articulate all that to Corey.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'll do it. I'll go."

"Good boy."

It was only a month, after all. He'd studied addiction psychology for months-he could play the part well.

He just didn't want people thinking he was an ex-addict when he got out. He'd never be an addict.


	10. Loud

It was his fault that America was looking down on law enforcement.

All his fault.

But at least he was working to fix it.

Norman Jayden relinquished all his objects-including the beloved ARI-to the front desk.

For the first few group therapy sessions he acted sullen and secretive. On the fourth, he gave an eloquent and impassioned lament of how Tripto controlled his life, and how friends, family, and even work was cast aside, all for the next hit.

It was a virtuoso performance.

For the next 26 days, he was encouraging, supportive, and optimistic.

So many of them had destroyed their lives. All were full of regret. He felt extremely sorry for them all, and almost felt bad lying to them.

But it was for his job, which was now everything he had.


	11. VI

A new woman, Belle Smith, replaced Chris as head of technology. She was the first person Norman Jayden saw upon his return to work, and he was floored.

Wavy blonde locks framed her petite face, and glasses framed her bright blue eyes. She looked demure in an oversized white coat that nearly reached the floor. He couldn't help himself from blushing.

"Agent Jayden!"

_She knew his name._ He smiled at her and said hello.

"I've been wanting to meet you for the longest time!"

He felt his cheeks get hotter.

"Do you have them with you?"

_Them_…? Oh! The glasses. Right. Right.

"Of course."

He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them to her. They brushed hands, and hers were so soft.

Her eyes lit up like a child's. "Wow! Can I try them on?"

"Sure," he said, smiling.

She gasped as she put them on. "This is so cool! I can't believe it!"

He figured she was new, and thus, she must be Chris' replacement. He sighed, then returned to smiling.

"So, uh, how long have you been working here?"

"Just a few weeks. Corey said you've been on vacation this month. Where'd you go?"

He would have to thank Corey later.

"Up to Virginia, to visit my parents," he said, which technically was not a lie, because they were in Virginia, and he had visited with them weeks ago.

"Wow."

She handed him the glasses. "Thanks. You know, I'm thinking about taking over the project, but every guy except you has abandoned it! Can you believe it?"

"No! That's…surprising."

_Must've been the Tripto._

"I know, it's so disappointing. Hope I can find some more volunteers."

"I'm sure I could find you some," he said quickly.

"Really? I'd appreciate that! I'll go start the paperwork right now!"

He watched her hips sway to and fro until she disappeared in the crowd of agents, then he reported to Corey's desk.

"Hey! Look who's back!"

Norman smiled. "Yeah. So, what do you have for me to do today?"

"I got a fresh one for you," he said. "A boy was found dead this morning near some train tracks near Crickton. You know, a few minutes out. I want you to go investigate."

"Alright."

He took the file from his desk and skimmed it on his way to the car.

This killer was an intriguing one, to be sure. He'd gone missing several days ago at a library, and according to forensics, was drowned by what was thought to be rainwater. His body was found with his face covered in mud, and an orchid in his hand.

First, he'd check where the body was found. Then, he'd check the library.

When he arrived several uniformed men were scattered about the desolate expanse of land, collecting clues and guarding the scene. Norman flashed his badge and went under the yellow tape. He put on ARI without thinking-it was second nature at a crime scene-and several orange ovals popped up near the train tracks. He went first to the pieces of hair that belonged to the victim. Very doubtful that a struggle occurred; hair fell out all the time.

He went on to the next circle on the opposite side of the tracks. Several footprints-the murderer's?-went on for a few feet. Size 11 shoe. That meant the murderer was fairly tall, if these were indeed his. The trail of footprints continued to where he'd found the hair, and continued downhill. Orchid pollen traveled the same trail as the footprints.

Jayden took a deep breath and walked to the small, white tent in the center of the scene. He sighed and pulled up the cover. There lay the pale corpse, face covered in mud. He repressed a shudder. Dead bodies always made him antsy.

There was a white orchid in the boy's overturned palms.

He examined his body; there were no signs of a struggle.

Norman went over the scene once more, then removed the glasses and placed them in his pocket. It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust after 30 days without ARI, so he sat in his car with the engine off, blinking rapidly until the spots finally stopped.

Then, he drove ten minutes to the Crickton Public Library, where the boy was last seen.

He entered the large building and wandered around until he found the children's department. He placed his glasses back on and walked through each aisle until he saw another orange oval pop up. Two shelves down, an origami figure rested on a fallen hardcover. He wasn't sure what it was supposed to resemble. He picked it up with his gloved hand. It was on top of a copy of "Winnie the Pooh."

He went around the department again, but no more circles could be found. He walked around the entire library, but found nothing after an hour. He took the glasses off.

His head was reeling by the time Jayden managed to reach the car.

Even after sitting for four minutes, he could still see objects outlined in orange.

_He needed some Tripto._

No, it was fine. Very, very minor. He took some deep breaths and began the half- hour ride back.

He didn't realize how long he'd been gone until he saw how empty the parking lot was. He dropped the file off by Corey's desk and on his way out he heard his name called by the loveliest voice on the planet.

"Norman!"

He whirled around as quickly as he could, nearly tripping on his feet. "Hey, Ms. Smith."

Her lips parted to reveal two rows of perfect teeth. "You don't have to be formal with me. Just call me Belle."

He nodded and smiled, wondering in the deep recesses of his mind if he should ask her for just one tube of Triptocane.

"So, I have great news! I'm now officially in charge of research for the ARI!"

"That's great."

"And I found someone willing to volunteer! This guy from Sector B."

"That's wonderful," he said. "You sure were busy, weren't you?"

She giggled and shook her head. "Nah. I've still got some papers to look over. But I'll get 'em done. So, anyway," she said, "I really wanted to talk to you, but it's kinda late, so would you mind meeting me for breakfast tomorrow morning?"

He felt his face flush again. _Goddammit, Norman._

"That sounds great."

"Great!" Her smile got even wider. So charming. "Meet me at Chucky's at 8, okay?"

"I'll look forward to it."

When he awoke at 6 a.m. Norman tried to ignore the soreness in his eyes, and tried instead to focus on his excitement.

It wasn't a date. But the idea of him and her, sitting secluded and across from each other, conversing still made him giddy. The only conversations they'd have would be about ARI. But still.

He got dressed and took some painkillers, and couldn't help admiring how normal he looked in the mirror. Healthy complexion, no bags under his eyes. It was a stark contrast to how he had been. The only new thing was the scar on his right cheek, a constant reminder of how much he'd fucked up.

_But he hadn't been addicted._

He arrived at the designated place a few minutes early, and at 8:01 Belle arrived, hair pulled back with a headband which accentuated the perfection of her heart-shaped face.

She looked demure even in a simple t-shirt and jean skirt.

"Hey!" She waved emphatically as soon as she saw him. He waved back. Norman ordered them both waffles at the counter and brought them to the table Belle had gone to pick, one in the back corner.

"So," she said, forking a piece on her plate, "I wanted to talk to you about the ARI. I wanna try and make a better model."

"That's great," said Norman. "But this pair works amazingly well."

"I'll bet it does," she said with a smile. "But I wanted to ask you about some of the side effects. Those can always improve."

He nodded and shifted his gaze to his meal.

"I'm sure you've got some." She was trying not to push. "Nausea, vomiting, headaches, hallucinations? You know."

"Well," he said, "Usually if I wear them for a long time, I'll get some eye strain, and I've had one or two…hallucinations." He didn't like the word.

"How long's a long time?" She was still smiling at him.

"It started out at about half an hour," he said. "But now I can go at least an hour or so without any problems."

"Oh, I see." Her voice was suddenly saccharine. Why was that bad? Why was developing a tolerance to the ARI a bad thing?

"So, uh…How would you fix those kinds of things?" He smiled. "If you could dumb it down."

Her brow furrowed. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I studied up on it a lot, even when I was still in college." She twirled a lock of golden around her finger.

_What's she have to be nervous about?_

"There are different parts of the brain that perceive and receive information," she continued. "The ARI sends signals to the brain that are almost identical to the ones you get usually. In fact in some studies it seemed the exact same."

He didn't know why, but hearing her lecture was terribly sexy.

"So…My theory is that if we make the info the ARI sends to your brain identical to the real thing-which we could do, eventually-that the brain wouldn't be overwhelmed when switching between what it knows to be synthetic and actual signals."

He felt himself grin. "Most of that went over my head."

She laughed. "I'm really hoping to have a new prototype out by next year, if everything goes according to plan."

"You plan that far ahead? I'm impressed."

"Oh, like you don't do the same thing."

They shared a laugh.

"I mean, I know you've gotta be a responsible guy if you're one of the first beta testers." She pointed to his jacket pocket. "For the ARI."

_"Responsible"_ Norman's ass. Didn't she watch the news? She was probably too busy.

"Not really," he responded. "I just knew a guy."

A "guy." Yeah. _That was all he was, Norman._

"Oh, so you've got a relationship with the technology department?" She laughed and gave him a coy smile.

He blushed.

"We're the nerdiest in the whole building. That must be the appeal," she said with another laugh. "So, is work all we're going to talk about?"

"I don't have much of a life outside of work," he said with a shrug. "I play some piano occasionally, and I tutor kids down at the elementary school down the block when I've got the time."

"Ooh." She leaned her elbows on the table and placed her head in her propped-up hand, cocked to one side. "Tell me more."

He hated talking about himself.

"Thursdays and Fridays, uh…they usually just work on math, but there's a girl, Sarah, who really likes words, so we work on Latin."

He hadn't been to the school in 4 weeks. He needed to go back.

"You teach her Latin?"

"Yeah. …And what about you?"

"Well, I dunno Latin," she said with a laugh. "Usually I fix computers in my spare time. Getting rid of bugs in programs and stuff like that."

"Wow."

"No offense," she said with a smile, "But you don't strike me as the 'agent' type. I just can't imagine you pulling a gun on anyone."

"I can't either," said Norman. "But it happens."

She laughed again. She had a beautiful laugh.


	12. 6

Norman had only had one serious relationship, and that was during the first year of law school, with a girl he had a class on Torts with.

She was a tall, arduous brunette whose gall had him captivated from the first moment he heard her speak.

They went on their first date in November, per his awkward request.

She was present in his every thought, and he often spent the hours that weren't consumed by studying daydreaming of their marriage after graduation, of his and her new law firm, and even of the stories he would tell their grandchildren.

He had the upmost respect of her, and wouldn't dream of going any farther than she wanted. In fact, he was quite content with waiting until they married to "consummate" their relationship. After five months, she had grown far too impatient for her own good and after a small argument they decided to "get it over with" in her dorm.

Two weeks later, Norman found out, much to his despair, that she had been with another man for more than four months. Five weeks later, she found out she was pregnant.

The baby wasn't Norman's. He had that checked. Three times.

He thought about her from time to time, and months ago when he was high off Tripto he'd often fantasize about what would've happened if it was his. They would've had a hard time starting out, but they'd been set as soon as he graduated and found a job. Then he'd have a wife, a child, and a job that mattered.

It was too late for any of those things now.


	13. VII

Things were finally starting to look up for Norman Jayden. He'd been sober for exactly 65 days much to his great sense of satisfaction, even if he was the only one who knew.

He was making progress in the latest series of cases, he had a new friend-not a replacement of Chris, but still-valuable, and he was able to enjoy things-without the Tripto. Sure, it meant limiting the time he used the ARI, but everything was still able to work out.

Jayden took his usual route to work and to his office. He put on his glasses and accessed the data he'd collected in the past two months and sorted through the information with gentle flicks of his gloved hand.

Three murders. Both victims were young males, aged 10-12, found with an orchid in hand, to symbolize innocence, and a face covered by dirt, to show the symbolism of the killer's operation. He, the killer, left an origami figure in the place where he captured the boys.

It was a damn shame. He was toying with them, taunting them. He left behind hundreds of clues. And yet, Norman couldn't find his identity, or even where he lived. It was damn frustrating.

Jayden looked up when there was a knock on the door. He slipped his glasses into his pocket the moment the door opened.

"Jayden!" It was Corey. "I've got a new investigation for you."

He looked up. "Is it…?"

"The Origami Killer's struck again."

"Origami Killer?" He chuckled. "That's…fitting."

"Yeah. We came up with it last night at the bar. You oughtta come with us some time."

He shrugged and rose from his chair. "Do you have a report yet?"

"It's at my desk."

Jayden followed Corey and thanked him when he handed him a file.

"Now, I want you to go to the place the body was found, first. Usual railway in

Cavertown. The kidnapping happened in a mall there, so go and see what you can find after."

"O-"

"Norman!"

He recognized her voice and turned immediately. "Hey."

"Hey! I need to talk to you," she said with her dazzling smile, folder in hand.

"Alr-"

"He's got to do this first, sweetheart," interrupted Corey.

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you got to do, Norman?"

"Check out some scenes at Cavertown. It's about, uh-"

"Twenty minutes away, that's not bad. I'll go with you."

"Haven't you got somewhere to be," said Corey.

"I've got some papers, but they'll only take two minutes. Come on, Norman."

They walked to the car and he opened her door and then got in himself.

"So," he said as he backed out of the expansive parking lot, "What's so urgent?"

"Nothing," she said with a laugh. "I just wanted to get out of my goddamn office."

He laughed with her, and they laughed all the way to the crime scene.

"So, do you want to stay in the car, or…?"

"Are you kidding? I'm tagging along."

Norman made it a point not to put on his glasses until he set foot passed the yellow tape, offering Belle his hand. She nearly tripped over the tape, but looked adorable doing it.

She walked beside him as he picked he picked up the clues, and they chatted while about the Origami Killer and about the computer-fixing business she was starting. It added an extra forty-five minutes, talking with her, but he didn't mind.

While she was preoccupied by the train going by, he looked at the body in the standard white tent. As he gazed at the orchid that lay on his chest, a pair of dark eyes flashed in his visual periphery. When he blinked, they were gone. He heard a scream, and scrambled out of the tent and to his feet as fast as he could, looking all around for the source of the noise. He tore his glasses off, making sure the strange coloration wasn't causing him to miss something. He stared at the ARI in his hand, and back up. Everything was still tinted blue. He felt his breaths shorten as he tucked the glasses in his pocket. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Hey! What's wrong?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

When he turned to look at her, Belle's skin was pure white, her lips a muted cerulean. He recoiled automatically and placed a hand on his now aching head, shutting his eyes.

"It's okay, it'll go away in a minute," he said, mostly to convince himself.

"What'll go away?" She spoke softly.

"My, uh…my vision is wonky," he said with a small chuckle, eyes still clenched shut.

"Don't you have any Triptocaine you can take? That'll fix it right up."

_Of course it will._ He shook his head, and it made him dizzy. He felt for the grass beneath him and sat down. "I don't really like to use that stuff," he said. He didn't like it, he loved it.

"It's fine, though. It'll go away in a minute," he repeated.

"No, if you've been using it a year and it's still affecting you like this, it might be something bad."

He assumed 'bad' meant 'fatal' and sighed.

"Come on," she said. "I don't have any with me, but I've got some in the prototypes room to give out to the newbies. Don't you have a prescription?" She asked as he opened his eyes, winced, and found his way to the car with her help.

"It's…expired, I'm sure," he said as he sat in the passenger's seat.

He leaned his head against the back of the seat, opening his eyes every five minutes or so to see if the colors had returned to normal. They hadn't.

"I've never had anything last this long, before," he said incredulously.

"Yeah, you didn't even have them on for that long."

When they reached the FBI she helped him to the weapons' room and seated him in a newly added table while she fumbled through the cabinets. "Everything'll be fine, no worries," she said.

By this point the room had started spinning, even when he closed his eyes. He was beginning to feel sick.

This was almost as bad as the Tripto withdrawal.

"How much do you weigh?"

"Uh…Oh, god, I dunno. Chris usually gave me one dose," Jayden answered absentmindedly.

"Hmm…Well, I'd think you'd need at least two. Take three to be safe."

_Fuck_ yes.

"I know it's probably more than you need, but I'd rather you'd have too much than not enough. It's only dangerous if you snort the whole tube."

He didn't ask how she knew these things.

"My parents are doctors," she said, handing him the vial that appeared an emerald green. "I asked them about all this with the ARI stuff, just in case."

He sighed and lifted the tube to his nose and inhaled three times.

_Doing drugs in a federal agency._

_But you only live once, Norman._

"Now, it's probably gonna make you feel pretty out of it, " crooned her vivid velveteen voice, "So you can just sit here for a while, and then I'll take you home, okay?"

"But I've got to work," he protested. He could get a fuckton of work done now.

He opened his eyes and the colors were beautiful and vibrant and what they were supposed to be.

"You can finish tomorrow," his angel said, sitting across from him.

God, she was beautiful. Her hair was so lush. He bet it was so soft.

"Now, listen to me," she sang. "I'm gonna give you one of these to carry around with you in case of emergency, and I'm also gonna write you a prescription. Fill it as soon as you can, okay?"

"Okay."

Shortly after, she drove him home, and he lied on his silky, satin sheets, he pulled out ARI and when through the data, quickly finding a pattern in the location of the murders. It seemed to resemble the same figure he left. Why didn't he see that before?

Then, he put ARI away and leaned on his pillow, thinking of how he and Belle would marry and how he would tell the stories of his heroism to their grandchildren.


	14. 7

_He promised himself he wouldn't use it._

He had a hallucination of Chris, sputtering frantically to Belle "I…I…I'm…I'm seein' dead people!"

And he took two doses, at her insistence.

_He promised himself he would only use it in emergencies._

A week with no leads, he figured, counted as an emergency.

_He promised himself to only use the one vial._

It lasted about ten weeks.

_He promised himself he wouldn't refill the prescription._

But he'd go through withdrawal if he didn't!


	15. VIII

Norman Jayden was incredibly stupid.

Due to the fact that the Origami Killer had racked up 5 murders in only a year caused Jayden to be incredibly stressed.

And what eased stress? Tripto.

He only used it at home, of course.

At first, after his (second) relapse, he'd only had a dose a week. After four months, two. Two more, three. Two more, four. Four more, five. And of course, when he was using the ARI too much, he used it.

And it was working fine. He didn't have any problems at work, and he could relax at home. Everything was perfect.

Except he'd planned wrong.

He used up the last of his vial on Sunday evening, but his prescription wouldn't be ready until Friday. Which meant unless he could somehow steal some Tripto from the weapons' room, he was going to have to go through withdrawal.

And he wasn't stupid enough to break into the weapons' room.

He was fine on Monday. He avoided the ARI completely and only had a small headache.

Tuesday was awful. He called a taxi because he didn't trust himself to drive, and when he arrived he locked himself in his office and did not come out until it was time to leave.

Wednesday was the worst, because he could no longer avoid his duties.

"Where've you been these past two days?" said Corey.

"Um. I was, um, analyzing the evidence," he said quickly, resisting the urge to scratch his face, but allowing his restless foot to tap.

"Oh. Well, anyway, I got a new case for you."

Norman groaned.

"This time, it's fairly close to here. Abducted at a park and found at the station about twenty minutes away."

"Can I tag along?" Jayden jumped at the sound of Belle's voice.

"I finally finished my proposal for the new prototype, and I really wanna show it-"

"God, why are you always following me around?"

Corey and Belle both stared at Norman in disbelief. The latter had tears in her eyes. Jayden pressed his face in his palm and sighed. "I'm sorry, Belle. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that, I'm just…I, uh, I really wanna be on my own today."

"Aww, let the poor girl tag along," said Corey.

He smiled weakly at her and they walked to the car.

"That was red!"

"What?" Norman looked around.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" Belle screamed.

"Would you, uh," he said, eyes forward, smiling, "Would you mind driving?"

"I would love to."

He pulled in a nearby parking lot and they switched places.

"So, can I see the, uh, the proposal?"

She handed him the papers in her lap.

"Shaking with excitement, huh?"

He smiled and positioned the folder so that his trembling hands were hidden.

"Wow, Belle…This is great," he said.

"Yeah," she said, grinning, "I just gotta get it approved and then they'll start getting made immediately."

"That's wonderful," he said.

"Hey, so I've been meaning to ask," she started, "You know that scar on your cheek? Where'd you get it?"

A pang of pain suddenly started in his skull. He clutched his head. "Are you making me fun of me?"

"No! I…What's wrong?"

"Headache. It's fine," he mumbled, giving her a wan grin. He focused on a proper breathing rhythm until they reached the park. By the time they were there, the pain had subsided.

There were children running, screaming, playing, but it only brought a smile to his face.

He would use the glasses quick, find the origami figure, and analyze the area as fast as he could. Then, he'd move on to the scene, and then, he'd safely lock himself in his office.

He pulled ARI out of his pocket and to his great relief an orange circle popped up immediately, on the vacant swing set.

"I'll just hang back," Belle muttered as he ran off.

There was the figure, in its usual form, surrounded by the usual pollen.

Damn it. Not another one. This made six. He had to find this guy, and soon.

He scanned the area, making sure he didn't miss anything, and put the glasses in his pocket, returning to Belle, who stood on the outskirts of the park. Suddenly, his vision started to blur.

"Oh, _goddammit_," he muttered.

The park lurched from side to side, and gingerly he leaned against one of the nearby trees that littered the parks. His breathing was shallow. He was sweating like crazy. His stomach was churning. The park had stopped moving, but he still felt dizzy. He clung to the tree for dear life.

"Norman!" Belle was by his side, looking at him with concern.

"Norman, what the hell's wrong with you today?"

"I, uh…" He closed his eyes, trying to make the vertigo subside. "I think I've got the flu or something."

"Yeah, you…you look like you do. Come on."

She helped him to the car, and it felt familiar.

She was always helping him and, goddammit, he didn't deserve it.

"I'm just gonna take you to your apartment, okay?"

The pain was finally starting to subside. "I'm fine," he said. "And I like to keep my sick days for emergencies."

When he was really craving some Tripto.

"And this isn't an emergency? You look like you're dying."

He sighed and smiled.

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

"No!" He exclaimed. "I mean, I, um…I'm fine. I don't like hospitals."

She gave him an odd look and they drove home in silence.


	16. 8

Norman spent the rest of the week in his apartment, alternating between the bathroom and the bed.

By Friday, he was feeling well enough to get his prescription, and on Monday, he was feeling like his (year-) old self again.

But something wasn't entirely right.

Belle seemed to be avoiding him, but after a few weeks she returned to her usual friendliness.

He never asked her what had caused her to, and she never discussed it.

They probably never would.


	17. 9

Sorry this took so long to post! Thank you for reading. :)

* * *

Norman Jayden's situation had gotten worse in the past year.

He refused to call it a problem, because it wasn't-it was just something that needed dealing with.

The Origami Killer was abducting children, another serial murderer was on the loose, and the new technology for the second ARI model was in its final stages of development.

There had been so much riding on him. He'd _had_ to use the Tripto, otherwise he couldn't have done nearly as much, and he would've let down all those people who were counting on him.

And he couldn't do that.

But there were some negatives. He could no longer predict when the withdrawals would hit, so that meant having to take almost an entire tube of Tripto-often in his locked office-just to stop the shakes.

He barely took any to relax, because he barely had enough to.

As such, he was constantly nervous-but still productive, far more productive than he'd ever been.

"Norman, I'm worried about you," said Belle as she parked in the usual space.

He'd spent the day investigating, using the new ARI prototype, reporting what he saw to her.

"There's nothin' to worry about."

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror. The circles under his tired eyes were so, so dark.

"You had to take a lot of Tripto today."

"Well, that was 'cause I wore the glasses for hours straight."

"Yeah, but half a tube…If it takes that much to stop the hallucinations, well…Maybe it's back to the drawing board."

"No," said Norman quickly. "No, I'm…I'm sure it varies from person to person."

"I hope so," she said, dejected. "I want to ask you some more questions when we get to your office. I didn't take enough notes."

The building in front of him started to blur, and he felt himself start to sweat.

"Um…yeah, sure. I'm gonna swing by the bathroom first."

Once inside he allowed himself to lean against the sink and splashed water on his face. He desperately searched his pockets for the familiar glass vial, but he knew he wouldn't find it.

He stood in an empty stall for five minutes until his hands stopped shaking. The walk to his office, for whatever reason, felt agonizingly long. Norman entered, closed his door out of habit, and felt himself being pushed against the wall. He was on the ground, staring into the fiery eyes of Belle.

"Wha-"

"What the fuck, Norman?"

She was holding two empty vials in her hand, trashcan overturned on the floor, looking the angriest he had ever seen her.

Slowly he rose to his feet, but he didn't dare move.

"I thought," she said quietly, "I mean, I thought for a year now, maybe something was going on, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt."

She furrowed her brow. "But I can see now that you're nothing but a fucking _addict_!"

He placed a finger to his lips in an attempt to quiet her. "You're…you're overreacting."

Emotional manipulation was all he could do at this point.

"Those are just from, you know, when I was usin' ARI too much."

She stormed toward him until she was an inch away from his blushing face.

"They're empty," she hissed. "How do you explain that?"

"Uh," he said, "I just happened to finish those up. While I was here," he added.

"Do you think I'm stupid!" Her voice rose.

"I can't believe you…I can't believe you…!" He opened his mouth to say something, but she slapped him. "Don't talk to me!"

She turned on her heels and exited the door in a huff, slamming it behind her.

He stood there, stunned, set the trashcan upright, and exited his office. At least ten people were staring at him.

"Which way did she go?" he asked.

Several men pointed to the door at the far end. She was probably headed for the parking lot. It was nearly time to leave anyway.

As soon as Norman was away from the others' eyes, he ran.

After three flights of stairs, he found her in the parking lot.

"Belle!" he panted.

She looked up from her car keys and put her hands on her hips.

"Let me talk to you. I just wanna talk to you."

"_Fine_."

"I, uh," he started, "I know it all looks bad, but-"

"I saw online where…where you almost died."

He knew what she was referring to.

"It freaked me out, but I figured you were…I figured you could handle things now."

She wasn't angry anymore-just disappointed. Norman wanted her anger back.

"It's…I mean, it's not like I've actually got a problem," Jayden muttered.

"Are you fricken serious?"

"Well, yeah. I…It helps me think better, I can use ARI, I've been helpin' out way more than usual…"

She crossed her arms. "What about all those withdrawals you've been having?"

He shrugged. "They're not that problematic."

"Not that problematic?"

"I just need to time everything right."

"You can't-" Belle sighed and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Look. That stuff is really bad for you. I don't want to talk with you anymore until you get yourself straightened out."

He dropped his eyes to the ground. "Straightened out?"

She sighed again and took Jayden's hands. "You're a _good guy_, Norman."

She gave him a quiet smile. "I just don't wanna talk with you right now. Just don't talk to me for a few days."

"But I'm leaving tomorrow."

"That's right," she said. "Look. You help them find that guy and then come back here." She straightened his tie. "Spick-and-span. Okay?"

He nodded his head.

He hoped to god he didn't die before he could get back to her.


End file.
